I’ve been writing about a quilt I am creating based on Margaret Atwood’s poem, “Morning in the Burned House.” It began to take shape this week.

I am very much in experimentation mode. I love the poem, and I have a vision of how I want the finished composition to feel as an emotional statement. I have a hunch that working as a mostly whole cloth creation will be an interesting way to get there. But I really can’t tell until I’m pretty far along in the process.

This week I printed all the sections using acrylics and wheat paste resist. Here’s how the revelation proceeded.

At this point, I had already masked the fabric with wheat paste resist and painted over it to define pattern and design elements. I’ve soaked the fabric in water for a few hours to get the wheat paste softened. Now it’s time to get the wheat-paste-acrylic sludge off.

A plastic worktable cover helps. This will be wet and messy

I use large metal spoon to scrape off the bulk of the wheat paste. (Remember that by now it’s mixed with dried acrylic paint. It’s a plastic-filled gunky mess. Definitely scrape up all the sludge and dispose of it in a garbage bag, not down the drain.)

More patient scraping gets almost all the sludge off. After that, I took it outside to the garden hose to remove the remainder.

Now – for the first time in the process – I can see the composition taking shape.

Here’s a detail of the foreground – a kitchen table with checked cloth. I like the way the crackle of the resist gives this a look of age and texture. That fits the emotional tone of this work.

Next I’ll be adding the stitching, and working on surface design patterns to tie all the parts together. Stay tuned!

LOOKING AHEAD: I’ll be exhibiting in three Central Florida Festivals this year. If you are nearby, I hope you’ll stop by and visit.

Memories and stirrers-of-memory have converged in my head and in my studio this week.

Last week I blogged abut my work-in-progress based on Margaret Atwood’s poem, “Morning in the Burned House.” I received some thoughtful and insightful e-mails form readers about their own memories and the process of looking at them. The sense of being-someplace-while not-being-in-that-place resonated deeply with my correspondents. Experience. Memory. Loss. (Thank you for writing and sharing!)

At the same time, I have been reading a very good book on writing, “Writing Down the Bones,” by Natalie Goldberg. Here’s a paragraph that grabbed my attention.

In the studio, I have begun sketching and working out fabric patterns for this new Atwood-inspired work, and looking at those smoky, misty ephemeral windows. They are powerful.

I was inspired to spend some time with works I had created this year. All of these are born from inner experience. They come from what I see when I look back on my childhood and the journeying beyond.

“Look Through to the Memory” 42” x 42” art quilt (detail)

“Adrift” 42” x 42” art quilt (Detail)

“Overlooked” 42” x 42” art quilt (Detail)

:Growing Unseen” 42” x 42” art quilt (Detail)

“This is the Way to Get In” 42” x 42” Art Quilt (Detail)

When I open the door to inside, these images are what come out. So, I am comforted and encouraged by Natalie Goldberg’s conclusion that creating with the raw material of who I am and what I know is just what I am to be doing.

If you would like more information on the quilts detailed above, you can visit them on my website. Click on the quilt title, Here::

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the opening lines of the poem “Morning in the Burned House” by Margaret Atwood. This just knocks me off my seat. Atwood uses such simple, straightforward words to paint such a complex image. Being there but not being there. A place that exists and does not. The rest of the poem develops the ambiguity and dream-like memory. It is unclear what is real and what is metaphor. I just love everything about this poem.

So, what to do with it? The local arts group I am a member of will have an exhibit later this year in DeLand’s City Hall. Each work is to be inspired by a work of literature and this will be my entry.

What I have so far is a photo transfer and some sketches.

The photo is a window image, one that contains a lot of dream-like qualities. It’s not crisp; it evokes a sense of memory (or loss) to me. And I love the palette it suggests, soft blue-teal-grey washes. As a challenge to myself, I want to create all the imagery in these soft, muted tones. (It is much easier for me to create intense colors.) This will be an experiment in holding back.

The size will be a challenge too. Our group wants all the works to have a uniform size: 48”H x 24”W. That fits our exhibiting space well, and all the works look good together when they are uniform. But a 2-to-1 vertical ratio is really hard to compose. I am going to vary just a tad, but it will still be narrow and vertical.

And I’m also interested in exploring resist printing in some new ways. Because the actual images in this work will be very simple — a chair, some bowls, a checked tablecloth — it’s a good chance to try out using wheat resist printing to actually create the objects in the work. I generally use resists just to create patterns. It should end up with a batik-like crackle effect. I think it will fit the subject well. But, I haven’t actually printed with resist like this before. I’ll have to figure out the logistics as I go.

This one will be in the studio for the next month or so. I’ll keep you posted on progress. I want to give myself time to let this develop, to honor the poem that inspired me.

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Looking Ahead: I hope to exhibit at several outdoor festivals in Central Florida this fall. I received my first acceptance, so I’m confirming. I’ll be there! Winter Park Autumn Art Festival – October 12-13 – downtown Winter Park.

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I am almost always a sketchbook-kinda-gal. I record ideas. I re-work them all different ways. I go back through the sketchbook. Then, when I am finally ready to put together a textile artwork, I create the pieces I’ll need for the work and create the piece based on my sketches.

Yes – surprise and serendipity happen along the way. But, for the most part, I’m following a plan.

But not in the new body of work that’s been occupying me in the studio recently.

To create abstract landscapes, I’ve created yards of fabric and rice paper, just going with what happens in the surface design and working for a rich mix of colors. Then – (which is the stage where I am now) – I gather the fabrics and let them tell me where to go.

I recognize and admire many other artists who work this way all the time. But for me it’s a new path – and a feeling of working backwards. And I like it!

Work-in-progress on my easel, stretched and taped flat to a plywood board

A little prep work first: I prepare my muslin base by “gessoing” it with exterior house paint primer both sides and stretching it out on plywood panels. I’ve also glued a sturdy interfacing to the back. These panels serve as movable easels around the studio when multiple pieces are in the works. My goal is for these finished pieces to have a certain amount of rigidity when they hang. (Though they will be backed and have a pocket like any art quilt.)

Here’s how things have looked in the studio lately.

I’m going through the stash of my recently printed pieces to find ones that suggest a loose landscape composition.

Fabric is adhered to the stretched muslin with matte medium, brayered to get a good bond.

Fabrics on my worktable. I just get lost in the soft washes of monotype printing created wet-on-sheer. And I love the way it contrasts with more intense muslin pieces.

The work on my easel (above) is further along. It also has some drawn elements. I’ll be adding a little bit of stitching to this.

So far—lots in the works. I should have some finished ones soon.-

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WOOF– just for fun, I’m exhibiting in a summer group exhibition of dog-themed artwork at Wendy Tatter’s Gallery on St. Augustine Beach. The opening is this Sunday, July 28, 4-8 PM. Drop in.

TRAVELIN’ – I have work in a few other juried group shows around the country. If you are near any of these exhibits, I hope you’ll take a look. (And send me some pictures!)

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This morning our street is littered with the remains of last night’s firecrackers. (Our neighbor takes his annual festive explosions very seriously!) There is still a slight scent of burnt gunpowder. A summer scent, mixed with the scent of charcoal grills.

I am remembering riding my bike in the alleyway behind the row house where my family lived until I was in second grade.

We had a basement. It was was divided; the front area was used for playroom and my Dad’s office desk. The back area had a washing machine and the furnace and it was terrifying..

Like every person, my story contains individual images and life snapshots. And, like every person, my individual slice is part of the bigger pie, events and trends that I was part of but that were beyond me. My parents were married after WWII and our row house home in Rodgers Forge, Baltimore was the first they could afford to own. I was a baby boomer. Our family trajectory followed the path that could be charted, in retrospect, as part of bigger patterns studied by economists and sociologists.

So much material to work with!

I am so pleased to be a part of the exhibit, “America Is…” at the Touchstone Gallery in Washington DC. Looking at the list of artists and artworks, I can tell that this show will reflect stories of all kinds and images of all kinds. My work was inspired by my childhood row house home. It may hang next to the work of someone whose story completely different from mine. How exciting! How very like America, at our best.

When I created the art quilt that will be in the exhibit, I was interested in the difference between the outside and the (invisible) inside. In row house neighborhoods, outwardly all the homes are the same. On the inside, of course, all the families are not at all the same.

I used mismatched windows, some unexpected color combinations, lively patterns in hand-printed fabrics, and unifying patterns of stitch, which both defined areas and built bridges between areas.

This neighborhood – very much like our country – is defined by the title: “Every One Has a Different Story.”

For more information about this quilt, you can find it on my website, HERE

NEWSLETTER: If you enjoy more detailed behind-the-scenes stories,as well as FIRST LOOKS at new works and members-only discounts,I hope you’ll become a Studio Insider.You’ll hear from me by e-mail about once a month. Subscribe here: STUDIO-INSIDER-NEWSLETTER

Rainy afternoons and naps go together so nicely. Today I’ve been able to enjoy a bit of both.

Before taking a little snooze I was in the studio working on some still in-progress collages.. Since I last posted about this new body of work, I’ve completed several pieces. I’m using collage construction, with ragged-edge image on white gessoed muslin, turned with a clean edge, and constructed as an art quilt.

Things I am discovering:

The different characters of fabric are an important of the design process. Acrylics on muslin are opaque. Not so good for nuanced detail, but great for solids. Acrylics on sheer pick up lots of subtle washes. Great for transparency. Acrylics on rice paper pick up magic little details. So, mixing up the materials in one piece reveals lots of interesting little visual bits.

Collage detail - acrylics on muslin

Collage detail - acrylics as transparent shapes

Collage detail - acrylics printed on rice paper.

I am drawn to the wonderful tones of yellow created when yellow mixes with black. (I already knew I loved these hues. Just discovering it again.) That’s how I created the hues of the rice paper section above.

I like a sense of motion. One of the things I try to work through with collage is the solidness of compositions. The physical act of cutting things out and gluing them down can get a little too solid. I work to break this up with thinner, more linear pieces that imply motion, and details of hand-drawn shapes in black.

I feel at home when I have a horizon. While I enjoy the abstract nature of these compositions, they are not completely non-representational. Even when I begin with another intent, I create an abstract landscape. I see land forms or water and a sky above. I don’t know if I will evolve to see the picture plane differently or not. It just seems to be how my brain works – at least for now.

As I pulled this artwork from the shelf to pack for UPS, I took a look again. “Shoreline Excursion” definitely has recognizable objects in the little birds. Beyond that, however, I see a similar view of water and sky and distance that I am creating in the new larger works. I guess this must be what’s inside my head — because this is what comes out. (In addition to the fact that I really enjoy little bubbles!)

The abstract landscapes I have created so far are on my web site HERE. (I hope to be adding to the gallery soon.) Meanwhile, I have just started two large quilts that are COMPLETELY different from this abstract landscape series: emphasis on photo transfer, deeper colors, interior storytelling. I hope to share some of that process soon.

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I recently received an e-mail written to all exhibitors in the 62nd Annual National Juried Show at the Maria V. Howard Arts Center in Rocky Mount, NC. I’m pleased to be in this show. (It has 276 submissions from 82 artists, with 58 pieces from 45 artists selected for exhibit.) And I like the work I created that was juried for inclusion.

The e-mail was an announcement of the award-winners. (I did not receive an award.) But I especially appreciated reading the criteria used by the judge.

For readers who are art-makers: I think these thoughts from the judge are good words for self-evaluation. For readers who are art appreciators, I think it helps to know how art professionals evaluate work. (Especially if you’ve ever had the “What! I completely don’t understand this one!” reaction, as most everybody has.)

Judge Amiri Farris, a professor at Savannah College of Art and Design, wrote about selecting works for the show and deciding on the award winners.

Does the artist push boundaries and try something different?

Does the artwork resonate with me or an audience?

Does an artist’s work or piece invite me to explore its deeper meaning?

Is the style unique to the artist?

Would I like to see more work by this artist?

These are helpful words of critique. And good critiques make us better artists.

Here’s a look at the work I am exhibiting in the Rocky Mount show.

I was interested in the ethereal quality of these windows when I created the work, and I still find them intriguing. (It’s a photo transfer -- altered a bit -- from an original photo of a window in my sister’s home.) I have a work-in-progress now that will feature this photo enlarged and used as a focal point of the work. I hope to learn from what I liked about the first piece that used this image, and dig into how it can be even more interesting and communicative in the new work.

Recently I was in my studio with two close artist friends whom I trust for advice and critique. I showed two other pieces I have in the works. And I was truly bummed by their reaction. (I was not bummed at my friends. I was disappointed in the work I was producing.) What I thought was working successfully did not speak to them at all. I do trust my own gut. I do listen to my own instincts. But, I admit that sometimes I can get too close to my own process and my own way of seeing a work, and I miss some obvious things that would be better if changed. This is what makes it so valuable to receive good critique.

The work-in-progress that I showed my friends has undergone significant changes. And it’s better.

We create. We learn. We create more.

If you’d like to know more abut “Sometimes You Can’t See In,” it’s on my website HERE.

NEWSLETTER: If you enjoy more detailed behind-the-scenes stories, as well as FIRST LOOKS at new works and members-only discounts, I hope you’ll become a Studio Insider. You’ll hear from me by e-mail about once a month. Subscribe here: STUDIO-INSIDER-NEWSLETTER

I am getting ready to work on some collaging in the studio over the next few days. I have worked on several large fabric quilted pieces recently, and I want to collage for a change of pace. (I began creating small paper collages regularly a little over a year ago, and I was delighted and surprised by how much I enjoy them, and how much I learn from them.)

To prepare, I pulled out one I've already completed to look at its parts and think about what pleases me in this process. This is “Windows to a Far Region”

MAGICAL BOND I collage thin materials: rice paper and fabric. (When using fabric, it is most frequently a thin sheer fabric, which has many properties in common with rice paper.) Bonding these to a substrate is like magic. It is the most exciting and rewarding part of the whole process. I slather matte medium behind and on top of the piece I am collaging and then press it down on the substrate. If it's rice paper, I brayer it for a good bond. If it's fabric I use my hands. (**Handy tip at end of this blog) Aaaahhhh! The piece being collaged just melts right into the substrate. Whatever image has been printed (usually monotype) just “pops” with detail. There I am looking at delicate effects I could not create any other way.

LIKE WATERCOLOR The imagery reminds me a lot of watercolor painting. When I learned to watercolor, I fell in love with its lightness and translucence. I have always found liquid, semi-transparent watercolor paintings more appealing than opaque acrylics or oils.

AREAS BLEND More magic happens when additional layers are collaged over the base layer. Just as the base layer has a magical bond with the substrate, a second layer will magically bond with layer one. When I work with paper, I like to rip the edges instead of cutting. Sometimes the point of intersection becomes completely invisible.

INFORMAL EDGES When I monotype print onto fabric or rice paper, the edge of the image on the plate is one of the most interesting parts of the image. I have learned to keep these edges as organic as possible. The edge of a brayer mark on the printing plate, for example, will make a wonderful and interesting image edge on the finished collage. When it's time to create the collage, I spend time looking for those edges to place them in an interesting place in the composition.

SERENDIPITY: As much as I have gained experience with my printing and collaging methods, effects are sometimes created which are a complete surprise. The lighter white lines within these squares are an example. They were more of a discovery than a plan. But I sure enjoyed the discovery!

In addition to large storytelling quilts, some of my next planned projects in the studio are mixes of geometric shapes with organic, based on the collage experiences. Creating a few of these smaller works is getting me into the groove.

If you would enjoy looking at more collaged works, visit the collage gallery on my web site, HERE.

Meanwhile, just for fun...

I want to brag on a new public art project in my hometown DeLand. A group of fun-loving and creative textile artists are creating tree wraps for downtown palm trees. There are now three wrapped trees downtown. Terrific teamwork: the City of DeLand supports and helps and the public art committee of the Museum of Art DeLand coordinates. (I enjoy serving on that committee.) I am not part of the team creating these pieces. Just a citizen who can enjoy them — and brag on them!)

**Handy Tip for Collaging with your hands: Artists who are wiser than I am probably already know this, but it was a hard-earned discovery for me, since I just can't work on delicate collage pieces in any kind of glove, and I have spent many hours trying to scrub acrylic medium off my hands. (It's very stubborn!) I use wax paper as a staple supply in my studio. I place the wax paper over the piece I am collaging and then brayer or rub with my hands to create the adhesion. It's nice and thin and you can see through it to see what you are doing. It does not stick to the collage. Just peel it off VERY carefully so you don't pull off whatever you just added to the work! Happy creating.

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As I was working in my studio yesterday I heard a radio story on the changes to America caused by the building of the Interstate highway system. In some places, new commercial centers were created. And in some places, towns were left behind.

I looked at a number of those towns in South Carolina and Georgia last week. Intentionally avoiding the interstate on our ride home to Florida, we drove through town after town. Each had a small central business district of brick buildings. Large glass windows faced what was once the main street. Most of these towns looked like they were barely holding on.

I was intrigued with this view – looking through the window, into the abandoned interior, and through the door and window on the other side

As we drove through the towns to the rural area before arriving at the next name on the map, we passed an occasional small home near the road. I stopped to photograph interesting abandoned homes. Others looked abandoned, but a second look made me stop. “Somebody lives here.”

Where do those people work? What are their daily lives like? Did they once go into the small town nearby for shopping and civic life?

What are their memories? What are their dreams?

I love this picture of a back door into the kitchen. The pattern of light makes it look warm and welcoming. Come on in! But this house was quite overgrown and in a state of disrepair close to falling down.

I have held onto the images of these small towns, and I am grateful for my photos to remind me of the feel of them. As an artist I believe it’s important to spend time looking. I hope to be able to see beyond the obvious. It’s important to hold on to the images and turn them over a number of times to discover all that’s there.

Such contrasts. The foliage around this home was verdant and lush. The home itself was dusty and long-empty.

Today I was back in the studio working on some new pieces. As I create work that digs into memories and stories, I want to remember the places I’ve seen and revisit the questions I asked. Some of the photos will, I hope, become incorporated into future artwork. I will feel a sense of obligation to the images, to use them to cause viewers to question and wonder.

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A year ago, on a similar drive home through rural South Carolina, I discovered this intriguing building. Somebody once lived there. I was captivated by the vines and trees growing up through the inside.

NEWSLETTER: If you enjoy more detailed behind-the-scenes stories, as well as FIRST LOOKS at new works and members-only discounts, I hope you’ll become a Studio Insider. You’ll hear from me by e-mail about once a month. Subscribe here: STUDIO-INSIDER-NEWSLETTER

I have a lot of respect for the authors and illustrators of children’s books. Some can absolutely make my heart soar. When I volunteer in first grade, I can see the joyful response of children to books that are put together with imagination and insight. Simple images and simple stories require a lot of care to create well.

I feel a part of that process as I am bringing along one of the projects in my studio. It features a dull brown village beneath a dull brown sky. Above the browns, the sky blends to a beautiful blue. There will be something magical in the sky. I want this piece to speak to adults and to elicit an emotional connection. But I am using a child-like vocabulary.

Last week I had only put together the pieces of the brown village. (The fabric was the result of some wonderful fabric-printing sessions with a palate limited to brown and black.)

This week I have been working on completing the sky, and on putting the two parts together. I have created the watercolor-looking sky with monotype prints on sheer fabric, layered in an organic way. There’s lots of stitching. It holds the fabric in place, ties the color sections together, and creates a sense of motion.

I like the ambiguous way the color works in the composition. It does not imply a specific time of day or night. But there is clearly a contrast between the dull brown associated with the village and the bright blue above. That’s what I hoped for.

After I attached the village section to the backing of the whole piece, I felt they needed a little more visual integration. Time for spatter! I confess to loving to spatter paint. It almost always adds just s bit of nuance that I like.

Here’s the quilt-in-progress on sawhorses outdoors ready for spatter.

My favorite spattering tool is a round cleaning brush. It delivers a lot of dots quickly to a large area. With practice, I have learned to pretty accurately determine if I will get great big blob spatters or a fine all-over mist. (But sometimes there are unanticipated surprises.)

Next for this work is the creation of the characters that will inhabit the setting and the magical event. Because I am creating this work for a specific call-to-artists, I think I’ll keep that under my hat for a while.

So… here’s some other magic that I enjoyed this morning. Just a little unrelated life joy – I can’t resist. They are so beautiful. It’s blackberry season!

The berries in our garden are just bursting off the vines. Each morning we hurry out to harvest what’s ripened — before the birds get them. The not-yet-ripe ones are an exquisite array of reds.

These have ripened indoors on the windowsill. I predict they do not survive the day without coming into contact with ice cream

THANK YOU for reading. I always enjoy questions and comments. --Bobbi

NEWSLETTER: If you enjoy more detailed behind-the-scenes stories, as well as FIRST LOOKS at new works and members-only discounts, I hope you’ll become a Studio Insider. You’ll hear from me by e-mail about once a month. Subscribe here: STUDIO-INSIDER-NEWSLETTER

I laugh when I look at pictures of myself in the studio and see that I wear the same clothes all the time. My favorite is my artmaking apron. It’s a terrific apron, made from a pair of denim overalls. I won it in a Christmas gift exchange in my art quilt group several years ago. I have added a good crunchy layer of paint to the front of it, built up in layers and from many days of artmaking.

Today I traded in this apron for my cooking apron, the one my daughter created for me. It has great big pockets, a dinosaur across the bottom and it is lined in a pattern of screen printed fish. I was chopping and stirring today, part of the kitchen team with my Rotary Club, preparing to feed over a thousand guests tomorrow and raise a lot of money for local causes in our annual Wild Game Feast.

What different enterprises. Working alone in the studio. Working in a team with a service cub. I like them both.

Things that are completely different can both be interesting and pleasing.

In my studio, I go back and forth between playing Mozart or Beethoven and Elton John or Paul Simon.

I am drawn to vibrant, intense colors. And sometimes a simple, subdued palette of grey and white will just take my breath away.

I love abstract art. It simply fascinates me. But it’s not what I create. And I can completely enjoy a simple, well-rendered still life of a tea cup.

I work well alone, and — if circumstances keep me away from my studio work for a few days —I long to be there creating, all by myself. But I’m also fulfilled by working in the fast-paced, close contact environment of a first grade classroom, or the shoulder-to-shoulder camaraderie of a service club project.

We are diverse and intricate creatures. We are filled with different and seemingly conflicting needs and desires. We are both curious and complacent.

Before stopping to compose this post, I was reading a great book of poems. It has filled me with appreciation of details and diversity and depth and rhythms.

And tomorrow morning I will put on my dinosaur apron and head back to the feast site and immerse myself in that very different kind of creative endeavor.

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This blog post ended up being more words than pictures. If you are in the mood to look at some pictures, may I recommend my you-tube videos? There are a number to see and they show works in progress. I hope you enjoy!

When I saw this picture, I could feel my creative wheels begin to turn. And now it’s a work-in-progress.

(It was sent to me by my sister, who wondered if I was interested in having the windows for my home. I was not interested in the windows. But I was intrigued by the image!)

So much is going on here.

They are discarded. Overlooked. The windows seem to have been out in the garden for some time, because the weeds and vines are growing all around and through them.

The frames contain intriguing reflections.

It is a naturally defined composition – areas of dark and light.

It made me think of The Secret Garden – an untended garden, long forgotten but full of potential. (And filled with a sense of both magic and mystery.) The Secret Garden made me think of a little girl. So, now, I am creating a work that puts those things together: The abandoned windows. The abundant growth. The little girl. The sense of being overlooked. A bit of mystery.

It’s in-progress in my studio now.

So far, I have been working on the background. The quilt will be 42” x 42”. I tiled the photos to enlarge them as laser copies, then transferred onto muslin. I’ve assembled them in a random, haphazard pattern. filled with oblique angles.. Yesterday I had a wonderful morning of fabric printing. I layered greens, using stencils and wheat paste resist, to create fabric with the sense of lush growth I want the final work to have.

I set up my fabric painting station outdoors. Beautiful day. Lots of room.

Two fabric patterns I created during the paint session.

The little girl, so far, is just a pencil sketch on muslin. I love the challenge of blending more than one kind of reality in one work. The windows are a photo-based reality. The greens of the fabric are a surface design reality. The girl will be a combination – some drawing, some layering of fabrics. I will probably need to do some watercolor-like painting (I work with acrylics) to unify the girl and the background.

As these images go together, I am “listening” to them. What story will they reveal?

Generally, when I create storytelling works I begin with the concept or idea that interests me, then create a composition to convey it. In this one, I know that the combination of the girl and the garden is emotionally compelling to me, but it it not all resolved. This one will evolve and grow.

Like weeds in a garden.

If you would like to see more storytelling works, please visit the galleries on this website. Here are places to start:

NEWSLETTER: If you enjoy more detailed behind-the-scenes stories, as well as FIRST LOOKS at new works and members-only discounts, I hope you’ll become a Studio Insider. You’ll hear from me by e-mail every two to three weeks. Subscribe here: STUDIO-INSIDER-NEWSLETTER

I always enjoy questions and comments.

Thanks for reading! — Bobbi

I spent the morning in the studio doing hand sewing and listening to NPR.

Sewing by hand is not my normal mode. I don’t use handwork in the body of my works or as added embellishments. The only hand work I do is attaching binding edges.

So as I stitched and listened, I thought about the edges as a chance for creative decision-making..

Painters who work on cradled boards have discovered this. Once it became acceptable for gallery-hung works to display without a frame, painters began to use this space creatively. Some wrap the image around the edge. Some leave the edge a natural wood color or paint it white or black. It’s a nice way to tie a series together.

For quilts, I generally use a strip binding edge, or strip binding combined with facing the quilt, and I try to do so creatively.

Here’s one edge of the piece I was working on this morning.

I painted this fabric strip to match other areas of the work. I attached it by machine, trimmed the seam allowance to ¼” edge, then turned the strip so that it would show on the face of the artwork. That’s the top. On the side, I turned the binding to the back so the cream color went off the artwork edge.

I did not want this work to have a boxed-in look with a contrasting binding on four sides. Here is the lower right hand-corner. I have incorporated the black-teal fabric to function visually as a border in the lower corner, although it is actually a part of the face of the quilt. On the bottom edge, I have sewed on the binding strip so that it shows.

Along the side edge, I turned the strip to the back as a facing so the shapes and patterns of that portion would go off the edge of the piece visually, without being “stopped” by the binding. This work, “Growing Unseen” is 99% done. I’ll be posting it on my web site soon. (Stay tuned.)

Here’s an example of one I completed last year that has no visible binding. “Sometimes you can’t see in.” I feel like this work has a painting-like complexity, and I wanted everything to go off the edge, no stops. (This work has been accepted into the 2019 Juried Art Show at Rocky mount NC, and will exhibit there May 3 – August 18)

In “Every One Has a Different Story”, I added a visible binding on the bottom edge only. (I remembered this one as an example because it is currently hanging in my home, right above my computer screen. As I was typing I looked up and thought “Now there’s a good example!) The colored blocks along the bottom function almost as a sidewalk, and the strip anchors it.

(More information about “Every One Has a Different Story” can be found HERE)

Now on to some new projects. I have about six sketches for new work ready to tackle. Hmmmmmm. Where to begin?

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A work I co-created that addresses global warming is headed to an exhibit in Healdsburg, California. Here’s its story.

I first met Hieronymous Bosch in art history class. I thought he was weird.

Detail - “Garden of Earthly Delights” Hieronymous Bosch c. 1504

Hieronymus Bosch WAS weird – or, certainly, the images he created were weird. He worked in the late 1400’s creating altarpieces and commissions for patrons, but filled them with mages that skewered civic leaders and church leaders. He also filled his works with contrasts: pastoral scenes next to surreal depictions of debauchery, licentiousness and vulgarity.

Hieronymous Bosch “Garden of Earthly Delights” C. 1504

I met Hieronymous Bosch again in 2014 as part of the creative process for developing “End of Eden,” a textile artwork created in the form of an altarpiece. The work is a collaboration between myself and artist John Lewis, made to submit to SAQA’s exhibit, “Piecing Together a Changing Planet,” which traveled to 20 National Park welcome centers 2014-2016. We were pleased to have the work accepted and to keep track as it traveled to parks and was viewed by over two hundred thousand people.

It is my firm conviction that the dangers of global warming are self-inflicted, the result of human folly, public policy that is unable to grapple with real events, and corporate greed. So, John and I wanted to make a piece that poked hard at leaders of all kinds and would provide viewers with food for thought. We looked to Bosch as our guide.

A pastoral portion of “Garden of Earthly Delights”

The fountain. “End of Eden” Bobbi Baugh and John Lewis. 2014

(Just a little note here about collaborations. Phew! Whatever the artmaking spectrum is, John and I are at opposite ends of it. I work fast and intuitively. John is methodical and a fastidious planner. Between us, we managed to create the PhotoShop images of characters and scenes and make all the photo transfers. John painstakingly pulled all the burlap threads to create the sense of water. I sewed the gold fabric into the “altarpiece” frame.)

So, when you see our work, you’ll see some of Bosch, some of John Lewis, and some of me. Our next stop is the Healdsburg Center for the Arts in Healdsburg, California, to exhibit in “Reflectivity – Artists and Climate Change.”

Detail, “Garden of Earthly Delights.” Hieronymous Bosch

Detail “End of Eden”. We’ve added the CEO of BP and the oil spill to Bosch’s ship of fools segment, and translated one of Bosch’s gluttons into David Koch,.

A scene of hellfire from “Garden of Earthly Delights”

The scene of hellfire from “End of Eden”. The water has diminished to a single drop - not even enough to fill a thimble

My recent body of work has been focused on inner stories and inner journeys. This is still important to me. But, neither I nor any other artist lives in a self-contained bubble. We’re part of the real world. I am pleased to be part of this work and part of this exhibit that asks artists to address a critical world issue. Bon voyage Hieronymous!

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I was taught to soldier on, to be good, and —apparently — not to expect too much

And so, asking, wondering, dreaming, and taking steps to follow my own path came to me late in life. But, hurray! I made it.

I volunteer in a first grade classroom twice a week, and I look with wonder at each little child in my class. They are shining gems, little treasures of possibilities. I don’t know what kinds of homes or families they go home to each day. I can easily imagine the obstacles, hardships and inequities each of them will face as they grow. For each of them my hope is wider expectations, the ability to look, hope and dream beyond whatever smallness may define where they are now.

A few years ago I created “Small Expectations.” I’ll just go ahead and admit that it’s one of my favorite works. I created the image of the two girls in the center, dressed in their go-to-Sunday-School dresses, from a family photo of myself and my sister.

Behind the girls, I have created a background suggesting their diminished expectations. The words from a mid-twentieth century etiquette book fill the fabric behind them. The symbols of birds indicate the innocence of the girls. The alphabet border and ABC blocks give the work a feel of simplicity and elementary school lessons. Yet, these real and implied life instructions were serious business.

For you, little girls… GREAT expectations!

(Small Expectations is 33” x 24”, mounted on a birch panel and framed from the back so the work appears to float 2” from the wall. It is available, on my website HERE.)

In 1987, Congress declared March as National Women's History Month in perpetuity. A special Presidential Proclamation is issued every year which honors the extraordinary achievements of American women. President Jimmy Carter's Message to the nation designated March 2-8, 1980 as National Women's History Week.

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This is not new for me. I have been incorporating windows into my compositions for awhile now. They are connected to my thoughts about home and my thoughts about one’s journey. (Which starts at home. And ends up wherever it ends up. Probably a new home.)

A discarded door by the side of the road a few doors down in my neighborhood caught my eye. It has inspired me to think how to incorporate it into a new work. I shot a few reference photos. I like the way the light is reflected in the panes and I like the way the light and shadows make patterns on the door portion. This is very emotionally compelling to me. A door should be an entry. But it’s been discarded. Is the portal closed? Is there still a way into meaning?

Two works in progress in my studio have windows too.

The work in progress show above (photographed on my worktable) is a dream and memory piece. I have inserted water and abstract pattern into the window panes. The strong windowpane pattern invites one to look through. But what’s there is unexpected.

This one is not as far along. I am thinking about developing it into an entry for a Florida SAQA juried show in June, “Perspectives.” It’s more compelling visually than emotionally to me – so far. The strong sense of light on the windows conveys warmth. These windows were also discarded. An invitation to look inside, but set aside from that purpose.

I just completed a large art quilt with a window at its center. “Look Through to the Memory.” (2019 – 42” x 42”) I worked to make the window a source of the invitation to enter the story. The character (the little girl) is connected to the window, and the dream-like contents of the panes connect visually to the dream-like environment beyond the window..

(Above: detail, girl sitting on the window frame. You can see the whole work – “Look Through to the Memory” and get more information about the completed piece on my website, HERE.)

The work below, “Sometimes You Can’t See In” includes multiple windows. It was inspired by photos I took of an abandoned house on Hwy 301 in Central Florida. The boarded shut windows, obviously, prevent one from looking inside. That made me think about windows in homes generally. Can we see through them to the lives inside? Might the life within be obscured by the façade? How can you enter and find out what’s really there?

I’m so pleased that “Sometimes You Can’t See In” has been accepted into the 62nd National Multi-Media Juried Art Exhibit at the Maria C. Howard Arts Center in Rocky Mount, NC. It will exhibit there May 3 – August.

(You can see the whole work and get more information about the completed piece on my website, HERE.)

My purpose in working with window images is to offer an invitation to the viewer. Look inside. Try to see through. My thoughts and my heart as an artist are in these works. Look. Look again.

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I recently put together a little video about the making of this art quilt.

I believe that people appreciate a piece of artwork more when they know what goes into its creation. So, I have tried to address both the inspiration and the step-by-step process.

I remembered one particular part of making this quilt as I reviewed the images:

The underlying structure of squares in tension with the overpainted trees.

I remember that after I had printed and collaged all the individual squares, as I was laying them out in various patterns to finalize the composition, I almost didn’t go any further. I loved the squares. The colors were delicate and the patterns were interesting. I just wanted to look at them.

But, at that stage the piece did not accomplish the emotional goal I had for it. There was no reason for a character to enter the scene if it was just pretty squares. So I proceeded to the overpainting and the final composition.

Now, however, I know they are under there. It is one of the interesting aspects of creating textile works in sections. Even when the sections are not an obvious part of the final design, they are an underlying structure. They are in communication with, sometimes in tension with, whatever layers are on top. All of this adds depth and interest to the work, even when the viewer is not—at first—aware of their presence.

I enjoyed sharing this work in person with visitors during my recent studio tour. I hope you enjoy watching the video.

NEWSLETTER: If you enjoy more detailed behind-the-scenes stories, as well as FIRST LOOKS at new works and members-only discounts, I hope you’ll become a Studio Insider. You’ll hear from me by e-mail every two to three weeks. Subscribe here: STUDIO-INSIDER-NEWSLETTER

In the first grade class where I volunteer, the teacher lavishes praise on students who make a connection. If the kids are reading about a figure from history in a non-fiction text, for example, and one points out a similarity to a fiction story they’ve read, that’s a good sign of putting ides together.

This evening I’m thinking about some different recent connections.

Over the weekend, I opened my studio to DeLand’s Annual “Off the Beaten Path” Art Studio Tour. What a great weekend. The two days were filled with conversations, and visitors having the chance to get a behind-the-scenes view of my artwork. Touching a stack of printed yardage and seeing a brayer and a bottle of matte medium are everyday occurrences for me. But, for the visitor, they are a way in to an understanding what textile collage is all about.

At my worktable during the studio tour, surrounded by some of my favorite image-making stencils.. (Thanks for photo Ken Naigus)

When I first started showing my artwork locally, I was nervous about displaying and hoping to sell my work to people I knew. I thought they or I would be embarrassed, and that it was better to sell to strangers. Not true!

The lessons I had learned during my career in the printing business, working primarily with customers in my local community, held true with presenting my art as well. People like to do business with people they know. Learning that was important. If you are an artist: find opportunities to introduce yourself to patrons. If you are an enjoyer-of-art or a patron: don’t be afraid to ask questions and to learn more about an artist and her work. It will help you enjoy the artwork more. (And the artist will be thrilled!)

During the tour, several of my visitors were members of SAQA (Studio Art Quilt Associates) and my local Surface Design Group, Arts. Etc. During those visits, we got to talk tech a bit. Being in a community of like-minded artmakers is essential! I enjoy the diverse methods and creative paths I’ve discovered from companionship with other artists. Some of my art buddies are my best encouragers.

I enjoyed the visit from SAQA member Pamela Burns during the studio tour. (Thanks for the photo))

During the tour, the laundry room was converted into an art gallery when I set up my display panels. “Becoming One With The Night” greeted visitors into the laundry room gallery.

Finally, I am learning that connections with people far away work too. I always enjoy the questions and comments I get from my blog and from website visitors. And, just today, I was featured in this article in TextileArtist.Org. I was honored when they asked me to do the interview, and pleased with the presentation they put together. Already I’ve had some nice e-mail correspondence with some of their readers.

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Today is studio Monday. I’m working on a new large collage of transparent colors

But yesterday was a day for sculpture and learning.

Two things impressed me Sunday morning. First: Eleven people were motivated to show up in rainy weather to walk around downtown DeLand to learn about our public sculptures. (I was the tour guide. But I will give more credit to the motivation of the after-tour brunch that was planned.)

Second: that we actually have a well-established and interesting public sculpture program in DeLand, Florida to visit — a tribute to our City government’s support, an active museum committee and lots of volunteers and supporters.

As we walked from sculpture to sculpture, I hoped to fill the rainy adventure with a few art take-aways. When you walk up to a sculpture, or any artwork, and it doesn’t immediately resonate or speak to you, how do you respond? I believe people sometimes feel intimidated by viewing work in a Museum. If it’s there you figure it must have some value. But what if you don’t get it – or don’t like it? Out on a sidewalk art feels more accessible.

So, at each step, our group talked through a 3-step process.

Step 1: Just react with your gut. Some works are an immediate “Yes! I love this!” Some are works are a “Hmmmm, I’m just not getting anything from this.” And some are a “No. I have an immediate negative reaction to this work.” Any of those initial gut responses is acceptable and permissible.

One of the sculptures in downtown DeLand: “Continuacion” by Jiminez Deredia. Its massive form is evident next to a City worker during the installation.

Step 2: Try naming the elements. Elements of design are found in varying degrees in all artwork. Color. Line. Shape. Volume. Positive-and-negative space. Values. Direction. Rhythm. Pattern. Working your way through an artwork, looking for these things and identifying them, is a way to become more involved with the work beyond the initial response.

A few times on our walk there were some “Aha” moments. “Look at that line, how it goes up on a curve. I wonder why the artist did that?” Asking the questions and wondering about the answers can help a work start to make more sense.

Step 3: Find out what you can from the artist’s statement or other resources. Even the title of a work can add insight. Knowing that an artist was once a biology teacher, for example, might explain a work’s relationship with nature. Descriptions of materials and methods help too. Imagine the experience of carving marble. Or imagine the process of welding steel pieces. All this background information can deepen the understanding of a work.

On our tour we had a few “Hmmm I’m not sure” reactions go up to a “Yes!” after reacting more with the work. (We didn’t get much change on the “No” reaction.) All OK. I enjoy living in a City where our downtown allows the chance to interact with art.

Now it’s back to the studio for me.

This is Bobbi with another sculpture from downtown DeLand: Three Point One” by Alex Mendez. This photo was taken on a nice sunny evening during the opening event, when the work had just been installed.

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An exhibit of works by Robert Indiana has left me thinking about originality. What’s original? What’s not?

Indiana is best-known for his iconic LOVE sculpture and graphic design, which was featured on a US postage stamp. The exhibit I visited in the Tampa Museum of Art featured his 3-D assemblages, largely wood plus found metal and machine parts. It’s part of his body of work I had not experienced before.

Throughout the exhibit, there were “identical”sculptures side-by-side. (Like the steer skulls shown above, which were full size and mounted atop a large wooden tree-like column.) The teaching materials explained that he created cast bronze duplicates of some of his sculptural assemblages then painted them to match the original. Seeing the two side-by-side was fascinating. Technically fascinating. Artistically intriguing.

The whole idea of a cast bronze is the opportunity to have more than one of a work created. But, I generally think of sculpture of that type as something created for the purpose of being replicated, created originally as clay or stone and then molded and cast in hot metal. Indiana’s replicated assemblages were far more complex.

Artists who create two-dimensional work for sale, I believe, struggle with decisions about creating reproductions. Of course, it’s just flat-out unethical to pass off a reproduction (generally a digital print) as an original work. But, if the artist clearly marks the reproduction as such, and the collector knows what he is purchasing, all OK?

I surely can’t fault any artist who creates reproductions as a way to mix price points and to create a sellable range of artwork. Artists have to make a living. But, I do think every artist has to think the issue through. Cranking out too many reproductions can diminish the value of the original image.

One of the things I enjoy about creating my textile collaged works and art quilts is that I do not feel tempted to reproduce them as giclees. A flat canvas, even one reproduced well, would be clearly completely different from the original. Seeing the layers, textures and stitches is part of the experience. So, I only create and only sell one-of-a-kind-works.

My struggles and decisions about originality are more internal. Am I creating a work that is authentic? Am I expressing thought or emotional content that is born from my own unique life experience?

Those are the things that reproduction technology can’t duplicate. It’s what makes art: art.

Here’s a detail of “Sometimes You Can’t See In,” a collaged art quilt from 2018. It incorporates my own photos hand-transferred to fabric: a kind of reproduction. My hope is that I have incorporated them into a work that is unique and personally expressive.

NEWSLETTER: If you enjoy more detailed behind-the-scenes stories, as well as FIRST LOOKS at new works and members-only discounts, I hope you’ll become a Studio Insider. You’ll hear from me by e-mail every two to three weeks. Subscribe here: STUDIO-INSIDER-NEWSLETTER